Sitting on the floor, lights off, sound absent.
The warmth of life has been put on hold,
waiting to recharge sometime soon.
Still shadows sit in the corners
as wind sweeps by in a blush of emotion.
As the shadow rests patiently,
color fades to the ground in a coma.
Now everything is still,
everything but the wind,
which continues to circle with infinite energy.
The wind, why so alive, when the
room is a cocoon full of frozen potential?
Beyond the walls of the cocoon is the wind,
which propels itself faster, swarming
around the encasement, looking for a crevice,
a crevice to seep into.
Inside the cocoon is still, yet
something has changed.
A tension has begun to form and the
hallow thinker has a look of curiosity.
The thinker is now mobilizing, the shadows
have been stolen, and the wind has
found a way in.
The walls break down, all peace is an allusion.
The thinker’s eyes have opened, the mind no longer hallow.
The cocoon failed. The thinker has been taken,
another has been snatched up by the thief.
The wind disappears, leaving an enchanting chuckle in the air.
This thinker is forever gone, the wind has transformed it.
The cocoon lays in shambles on the icy ground.
It will reform. A new thinker will arrive.
And the wind will come screaming back to make its rounds again.